02x01 - Prodigal Son

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Any change, Meecham?

I still have hope, Doctor.

BETHLEM HOSPITAL, LONDON, 1830

Lost cause this one, Father.

God's left him long passed.

God leaves no one.

Will you pray with me, my son?

Come back to us, John.

Come back to us.

My son.

John?

He lives.

He lives.

Come on.

Back to bed will you.

Enough!

Enough!

Enough now!

Don't make me...

Forgive me.

Out of the way!

Out of the way!

Let me show you where you were born.

My Adam.

You are the next step.

JOHANN DIPPEL

Jemima.

You told me that if Daniel succeeded, then we would be in a world without God.

And I would be as guilty for it as he.

Well, he has...

and I am.

I was lost.

I couldn't find you.

There will be another one after you... and others after that.

Fire and water and ice.

You must find him.

You must do this for me.

Heaven is closed to both of us.

Fire and water and ice.

Where are you?

You must find him.

You must do this for me.

You must find him.

You must do this for me.

They say the body is a real mess, like a scene from the Bible.

Who'd k*ll an Archdeacon but a man touched by the devil himself?

Ripped out his intestines and his heart, and his lungs, I heard.

Oi! I told you lot to get down to the coroner's office.

Sergeant Nightingale.

Inspector Treadaway.

Look at this.

Sir Robert's Great Metropolitan experiment.

At Bow Street, I went out and got things done.

Now I spend all day writing about it in triplicate.

Detailed records are the future, sir. I do believe it.

I think you might be right, Sergeant.

Because they're no bloody use to us here in the present.

Have you finished at Portugal Street?

As I suggested, it was a crime of passion.

It was the husband himself who k*lled his wife.

You got him to admit to it? No need, sir.

The evidence admits all.

Good work, Sergeant.

Very good.

m*rder is definitely your talent.

I have another one with your name to it.

The m*rder of the Archdeacon? No, a guard at Bethlem, k*lled by an escaped lunatic in his flight.

Bethlem is under Southwark Watchhouse.

But the tollman on Regent Bridge spied the lunatic crossing the river.

Which makes him the concern of Westminster.

How did the guard die?

Throat slit ear to ear, I'm told.

Horrible business.

Constable Bircher!

You'll be assisting Sergeant Nightingale in his enquiries.

Sergeant Nightingale... If you wish to rise above the rank of constable, you need to be more conscientious with your work rather than fueling babble and hearsay.

Understood?

Yes, sir.

We've come for the body of the Archdeacon. Hand him over.

This m*rder is the concern of the church coroner, Mr. Renquist.

Says who? Says the church!

Out. Get him out!

I don't take orders from Charlies like you.

But maybe you will accept the authority of the Very Reverend Dean of Westminster when I tell you that you have no jurisdiction here.

The Parish Watch are in charge, not the police.

Never let that happen again.

Yes, sir.

How can I help you?

I was abandoned by God.

And now you seek His sanctuary?

So, it is you, John Marlott.

I am not John Marlott.

Yet you walk in his image.

Why? To find Daniel Hervey...

and show him God's vengeance.

No.

The man I knew...

This man I see before me...

You were not a man of vengeance.

Who was I?

You were a man of kindness.

A man of justice.

Justice?

I was shown no justice.

Now, I walk a wasteland, Father.

A world forsaken.

It is the poor who are forsaken, not the world.

And what they crave is justice.

Then, we are all abandoned. No, no!

Here in Pye Street, it is the church who has abandoned us.

The church, not God.

My flock lies here in the cradle of the church, under the gaze of God.

Yet every day, they wander further into the valley of death while the Dean of Westminster watches on and lines his own pockets. Deliver us from evil, for thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the Glory for ever. Amen.

Amen.

Good morning, Mr. Dean.

Mr. Renquist. Gentlemen, leave us please?

The Metropolitan police have begun trespassing on the m*rder of the Archdeacon.

Yes, how very irritating.

The Home Secretary wishes to illustrate the competence of his new police force.

It feels like desperation.

Nevertheless, I cannot be expected to conduct church business with their continuing interference.

And you shall not.

Even the Home Secretary will find he cannot refuse the seal of the King, who, I'm sure, would not object to my small appropriation of his authority.

Westminster is not the domain of the state.

It is the domain of God.

The King's seal is the final word and the people will... have faith in the church.

I rescued them after your arrest.

Do you think I'm guilty of it, Father,

Flora's m*rder?

That's between you and God.

I won't betray you.

But your clothing might.

Go to this shop and ask for Esther Rose.

She is someone you can trust.

I cannot repay you.

"The wicked borrow and pay not again, but the righteous show mercy and give."

Is that a Psalm?

That's right.

I remember it.

Do not forsake God, my son.

And do not forsake those He has in keeping for you.

They still await you on the other side.

I have seen the other side.

I was taken to the meeting place, but they were both gone.

They were sent on without me.

What marvel brought you back here, John Marlott?

I am not John Marlott. Then who are you?

I passed beyond God's kingdom.

John Marlott is dead.

"An Archdeacon is m*rder*d in the very heart of Westminster, and the Metropolitan police are instructed to play no part in such matters"?

The Dean of Westminster flaps his wings indeed.

The letter did arrive under the seal of King George, Home Secretary.

And if King George has witnessed its contents, then I am a Charing Cross saddler. No, Fox.

This is the work of the Dean and no other.

Mr. Dipple. Forgive me, I was unaware of any appointment.

No forgiveness necessary, Sir Robert. I am unannounced.

I'm afraid, sir, the Home Secretary's appointments do not...

Oh, that is quite extraordinary.

Vishnu.

Late seventeenth century.

West Bengal, I'd hazard. Speak plainly, Mr. Dipple.

What is your business? "Speak plainly"?

Novel words from a politician.

We are all aware of your influence, Mr. Dipple, but in the seat of Government, you will do well to address me with the customary respect.

Sir Robert, spare me the indignation of tradition.

We are both men of the modern world.

Governments come and go like the passing of the seasons.

And yours is in trouble.

What is your business?

Fox, would you be so kind as to collect the minutes of this morning's Cabinet meeting? Thank you.

There was a m*rder two nights ago in Westminster.

The Archdeacon?

And that night also saw the escape of a dangerous lunatic from Bethlem.

His liberty is of concern to me.

And why should it concern me?

I understand your new cemetery bill reaches a crucial stage.

As we have discussed.

Mr. Dipple, your support for this scheme is very generous.

Yes, I believe the swift apprehension of this man will hasten the completion of these documents in no uncertain measure.

And what will you gain from this?

Me?

Well, you hardly impress as the Good Samaritan, Mr. Dipple.

Very well, I can assure you that the Metropolitan Police will consider the arrest of this escaped lunatic to be a matter of the utmost urgency.

And the seasons pass thus.

Sir Robert, good day.

Fox.

Please make it clear that in future, Mr. Dipple is not to be admitted without an appointment.

Of course, Home Secretary. Though I doubt that it will stop him.

That's the problem with the extravagantly rich, Fox.

They think they own everything.

OLD PYE STREET

MOSES ROSE USED & LAUNDERED CLOTHING

Esther Rose?

Father Ambrose told me you could provide... a more suitable set of clothing.

More suitable?

These clothes...

No matter.

Your business is none of mine, sir.

If you just stand straight.

A m*llitary bearing.

I need the collar to be high.

If you can, please?

I know what will do.

Thank you.

I'll give you some privacy.

I'm dressed.

They're a good fit.

Thank you.

Please.

Where did these clothes come from?

A dead man.

The shirts of the deceased beg a lower price, and most of my patrons are not fussy.

Why did you choose them for me?

I saw you in them.

Thank you. Is that enough?

That's right for a man who served his country.

People forget. They do.

Thank you, Mrs. Rose.

May God walk with you, sir.

You have no clue to his identity?

None was discovered, but there was curious incident in the days before his escape.

A visit by Reverend Ambrose provoked a reaction unlike any I ever saw in him.

Father Ambrose?

Of the parish of St. John's, I believe.

"I d*ed AND YET I LIVE."

The meaning of this?

Unintelligible.

As you can see, ramblings are fractured to say the least.

Sometimes in the first person, sometimes in the third.

This.

This is? A record of admittance.

"Daniel Hervey." Lord Daniel Hervey? I believe so.

His connection to the patient? I really have no idea.

Lord Hervey d*ed quite some time ago.

I recall.

There were stories of a fire.

The patient had been in our care for almost three years.

As I did not admit the man, I have no speculation as to Lord Hervey's involvement.

Father Ambrose said that the patient resembled a man he once knew, hanged for the m*rder of a young girl.

How would you describe the man, the patient?

A lost soul.

JOHN MARLOTT Nightingale!

Sergeant Nightingale, what are you doing?

Inspector. That's the third time I've called you.

I had to come from over there.

Sorry, sir. No matter.

Truth told, this is the furthest I've escaped my desk all day.

What did you learn at Bethlem?

There's something odd about the events at Bethlem, sir.

I just can't put my finger to it.

But I believe the doctor to be concealing something.

Concealing involvement in the m*rder?

No, nothing so sinister.

He seemed ill at ease in discussing the escaped patient for no reason I can fathom.

Guilt for some fault beyond his control, perhaps?

I was thinking the same.

Did he at least furnish you with a description of the man who escaped?

He described the man... as a lost soul.

I think we'll need a little more to go on than that.

Talk to this Father Ambrose at St. John's tomorrow.

The Home Secretary's taken a keen interest in this one.

Yes, sir.

Fire and water and ice.

CHURCH OF SAINT JOHN'S

Jemima.

You must find him.

If you denied me, then surely you denied Daniel Hervey.

He still walks this earth with me, I know it.

Where did you cast him?

Where?

Heaven is closed to both of us.

Father?

Father?

Fire! There's a fire!

The church is on fire!

Fire! Water!

We need buckets of water! Where is it?

The church is on fire!

Parish Watchmen! To me!

"Second unholy m*rder of Westminster Clergyman.

As Police pursue incurable Bethlem Lunatic in desperate manhunt."

The Bethlem investigation...

Something has turned up.

The inmate believed that he was John Marlott.

That's Bedlam for you.

There's nothing to be afraid of. It's all under control!

Marlott is dead.

If you print one word otherwise, I'll take this quill, stick it in your tongue, and pin it to that desk.

Search every room, every cellar, every attic.

Don't take him on. What's the point of that, sir?

You'll lose.

With all this talk of the devil in Pye Street, I'd prefer to have someone here.

How long will it take you to repair it?

- I'd say at least eight days. You have five days at a crown a day.

I accept.

Men have survived the gallows before.

And you will hang again, I'll make sure of it.

You saw what Hervey wanted you to see. He is using them to resurrect the dead.

And the dead demand justice. Not just for them, for me!